


Iridescence

by fleurjaune



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Angst and Humor, Apologies, Crack Treated Seriously, Crack and Angst, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Constipation, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Infidelity, F/M, Mentioned Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Minor Emilie Agreste/Gabriel Agreste | Papillon | Hawk Moth, POV Gabriel Agreste | Papillon | Hawk Moth, this was meant to be funny then gabriel was a dick, yeah i know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-12 10:48:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29009295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fleurjaune/pseuds/fleurjaune
Summary: Nathalie changes the colour of her signature streak. Gabriel takes it badly.
Relationships: Gabriel Agreste | Papillon | Hawk Moth/Nathalie Sancoeur
Comments: 21
Kudos: 70





	Iridescence

He was staring at a particularly nonsensical request from a couture client when somehow Adrien managed to squeal at such a volume that it penetrated through the doors of the Atelier.

His grip on his stylus tightened in irritation and he glanced at the screen to check the date and that he _did_ in fact have a teenager and not a toddler. Though he couldn't think but think morosely that it would have been wonderful to discover that the last decade or more of his life was a dream and hadn’t really happened. That reminder that it had and he’d _had_ lost Emilie, and he _was_ still stuck in this mess, soured his mood further. 

At least with the idiotic client he _had_ been thinking about work and not the whole sorry situation for once before the interruption.

Perhaps without his Miraculous he would have been less irritated and more concerned by the sound but the lack of any strong negative emotion confirmed Adrien wasn't in any sort of danger.

What exactly _could_ have prompted it he didn’t know since he couldn’t think of any good justification for it.

Clearly Adrien was picking up bad habits at that school of his and once again he questioned whether he should have let him go there. Emilie would have been disappointed in him for doing so; he knew that, she’d been passionate about Adrien’s education, but then she also would have been disappointed in him for not putting the time into Adrien’s homeschooling himself. 

Besides if he pulled Adrien out of school he’d have Adrien turn those upset eyes and angry pouts he’d inherited from his mother at him, _and_ Nathalie would pull out her own disappointed faces whenever she thought he wasn’t looking, and if she was really angry then she’d do it when she thought he _was_ too _._

So it wasn’t worth it, he’d just have to ask Nathalie to remind Adrien of the manner in which he should comport himself. Or perhaps it could wait until his next meal with his son since it might come with more force from him than from his assistant.

He wouldn’t need to _ask_ her what had caused it. Either it was unimportant and he didn’t need to know, or she’d let him know without asking. Nathalie was good like that.

The latter seemed to be the case as he heard her enter the Atelier and walk to her desk, without saying anything more than “Good morning, sir.”

He acknowledged it without looking up, finally beginning to make some progress on the design in front of him.

A few minutes later an Instagram notification for Adrien’s account went. Once again he ignored it assuming Nathalie would inform him if there was anything important on it.

* * *

He and Nathalie worked in comfortable silence until he felt the possibility for an akuma thrumming on his chest.

Sometimes he thought that they should hold off from these opportunist Akumas and commit to only making planned attacks but as neither approach seemed to bring them any closer to victory he didn’t dare give up any chance in case it was _the_ chance.

Even ones he knew wouldn’t win, like Mr Pigeon, were a siren song he struggled to resist. Though admittedly he was worse at ignoring them when they might disrupt something else difficult in his life, like say a meeting with Audrey Bourgeois. At least then he got _something_ from his failure.

Still. _Today._ Right now. This might not be a failure.

“Nathalie,” he called out, “Please let any callers know I won't be available.”

“Yes, sir.”

He looked over to her desk to acknowledge her response and-

“What have you _done_ to your hair?”

Somehow she had the temerity to seem surprised by his reaction to the godawful fluorescence next to her face, “I dyed it sir.”

“Yes, I can see that,” _how_ her normal striking but complementary red streak had been replaced by a bright green one that made her look sickly was obvious. What wasn't was, “What on _earth_ processed you to?”

She’d even replaced her usual polo necks in various shades of red with a green one. At least _it_ was a darker emerald green that unlike the lighter shade ruining her hair actually suited her.

“Adrien reminded me that I hadn’t changed it for a while the other day and I thought why not?”

Nathalie _had_ used to regularly change the colour of her dyed streak. With the damage already done bleaching it to allow any colour to take, re-applying various pigments on top had hardly been more damage he supposed.

She’d changed it enough that he could link various fond memories from successful shows to the first medal Adrien had won to what colour Nathalie’s hair had been at the time.

But she’d had red for so long now he’d got used to it. She hadn’t changed it since, he couldn’t remember the last time she’d changed it, but it must have been before they’d lost Emilie.

He supposes he’d thought she never would change it again. Nothing else seems to change in their lives just the same sad slog day after day, but somehow at a word from Adrien she _has_ changed it.

To _that._

“Why not?” He asked lightly, before pointing out the obvious, “It’s awful, that’s why not.”

She blinked, “I’m sorry?”

“It’s,” The colour itself isn’t impossible to use _somewhere_ but on Nathalie it’s, “unflattering. It makes you look sickly. You do have this company to represent you know.”

He could see her brain going through possible responses before she said, “I don’t think it’s the hair that’s making me look sickly sir.”

Guilt pooled in his stomach at the reminder of what she’d done to herself on his behalf, but she _hadn’t_ looked like this before and, “That’s all the more reason to look your best otherwise. Change it back.”

She raised her eyebrows, “Sir?”

“It doesn’t go. We have a theme. Stick to it.”

Nathalie’s eyes glanced round the monochrome office and he realised his mistake before she said, “The company doesn’t have an official colour, and the company dress code doesn’t specify anything about acceptable hair colours or styles.”

Right now he regrets that but they’re a _fashion_ company not a finance one or something. He doesn’t want to supress his employees’ creativity. He’d just never thought someone as intelligent as his assistant would do something as stupid as this.

“No you’re correct. The _company_ doesn’t have an official colour, but” He reached for the tablet on her desk and flicked it into camera mode and then to the front-facing one, “stand up.”

She did so without asking for an explanation even though he could see she was looking for one.

“Come here.” He gestured next to him, and then when she left too big a distance between them wrapped his arm round her back to pull her in closing those last few centimetres of distance between them, and held the tablet up in front of them, “What do you see?”

“Us?” Nathalie answered but clearly she still had no idea where he was going with this from the uncertainty in her tone.

“Exactly,” he said, “And where does _green_ fit in this picture?”

“I don’t know sir.” She said this time only stoking his irritation further.

“Usually Nathalie we match. Your palate might be dark, and mine might be light but _red_ ties us together and keeps us co-ordinated as a pair. Now we just clash and not in a striking way where one colour sets the other off; we just don’t go together.”

He can see the frown forming on her face on the screen and _she_ must has notice his eyes on it on there because her eyes darted to the side assumedly finding _his_ on-screen ones and a second later her face smoothed out.

“This has never been brought up as a consideration for my hair colour before.”

“Well no,” he put the tablet down rather than tiring his arm out, and in doing so caught Emilie’s portrait out of the corner of his eye, and his throat felt dry and he let go of Nathalie, “but you didn’t used to represent the company in the same way. Now you quite often go out in my place, your appearance is more important. I’d hate to have that green shine down on the image of me on the tablet.”

The excuse sounded weak to him, and he could only hope Nathalie wouldn’t push at it. It was important that he remember that while Nathalie was the closest person to him, _she_ and he were not a pair. That his other half was lying below them waiting for him to save them.

“I can’t re-dye it to red now,” Nathalie said, “But I suppose I could layer blue over it if that’s better sir.”

“It is.” He said firmly. Nathalie in blue, _yes,_ that does make sense in a way this green doesn’t even if it’s not the red he’s become used to.

“Is it that bad _really?_ ” She asked. “I didn’t think green was that terrible on me.”

“Not every green.” He clarified, “Your top is fine, you’re good in jewel tones, but that shade, it’s too yellow for you.”

“But I’ve had it yellow before. You didn’t complain about that.”

That made him think back, trying to trawl through his memories to when Nathalie had had yellow before and ah, it comes to him; Emilie had been at a premiere and since they were between nannies Nathalie had had to entertain Adrien until he finished work while still monitoring her phone. It’s when Adrien had drawn the picture he used to have until, his thoughts faltered in shame at the memory, until he’d broken the frame in a fit of rage.

She must have had it for longer than a day but that’s the only memory that sticks out from that period.

“ _That_ was more of a pale orchre,” yellows in the more brown/orange area of the colour look fine on Nathalie, “not highlighter yellow.”

“I see. Well, thank you for telling me sir.”

“No problem,” he went back to his podium only to pause. There had been a possibility for an akuma hadn’t there?

He put his hand to his Miraculous as if that would do anything to bring what he’d felt back but whatever he’d felt it was gone now. His chance was lost while he was arguing with Nathalie over her hair.

It felt like Emilie’s eyes on her portrait behind him were boring holes in his back. He’d forgotten her somehow while her visual representation takes up an entire wall of the room he was in.

He’ll do better. He had to believe that.

* * *

At some point Nathalie reminded him he needs to eat and when he waved her off because he’s too busy to stop she sighed and left the room.

Some time later she returned with the wheeled serving tray with lunch on for him, and left it in silence by him.

It was astonishing how accusative she could make a silence.

Annoyed at the situation he gave in and picked up the half baguette she’d left him, but it was impossible to eat and work. Instead he got his phone out to scroll through. The little Instagram notification was still there and while it couldn’t have been anything important he thought he might as well look at it.

And if he’d hoped that no-one else would see Nathalie’s terrible decision then he’d been thwarted in that too because there she was next to Adrien.

Adrien was grinning to ear to ear, and next to him Nathalie looked more subdued but he could see the chagrined fondness in her expression.

Had she had her normal hair the photo might have been fine. The _problem_ was the caption.

“Ladybug’s always going to be my fave but can’t blame Nathalie too much for picking Chat Noir 🐾😸◼️”

Chat Noir. _Chat Noir._ “Chat Noir?” He shouted out loud.

“Sir?” Nathalie called, “Is there are problem?”

His rage grew as he marched over to her desk phone in has, “ _This_ is the problem Nathalie.”

She took a moment to read the caption then, “Ah.”

“Those so-called heroes are the reason that Emilie isn’t here and you’ve decided to become one of their insipid fans.”

She flinched back from him, “I,”

He didn’t care. “How could you do this to me Nathalie? You’re supposed to be the person that understands! You’re supposed to be on my side.”

“I _am_ on your side.”

It was the truth and he knew it, but it was difficult to believe it when he’d just missed the chance of akuma because of this. “What’s this then? Are you going to join their side in the next fight? You can forget getting the Peacock Miraculous back.”

“It’s just _hair_ Gabriel.”

“It’s a sign of your allegiance is what it is. It’s appalling.”

“I’d have thought you’d be _glad_ of something that would help put them off our trail.”

“I’m not.” He could break something. “Get out.”

She looked lost. “What?”

“Get out.” He repeated. “I don’t want to see you until you’ve got rid of that.”

She pushed her chair away from him and her desk, and then fled the room.

Once she was safely gone he let himself punch the wall. He was furious at her, but furious at himself too. This was what came of being distracted. He shouldn’t have got this fixated on it or wasted his time seeing what Adrien might be up too.

He rage quickly turned to sorrow, something _deep_ and still tinged with anger and self-recrimination but also fear.

_Fear._

What was he afraid of?

This wasn’t his emotion.

“Nooroo, da-“

His Kwami didn’t let him finish the phrase. “Master.”

“Nooroo, dark wings,

“But master,”

“ _What?_ ” he ground out in irritation. He’d have to remind Nooroo who was in charge. No more grapes for him if he couldn’t get that straight.

“It’s Miss Nathalie.” Nooroo clarified at his confusion. “The emotion you’re feeling. It’s Miss Nathalie’s.”

That was uncomfortable. If that was _Nathalie_ then that fear must have been of _him._ That felt wrong. She should be the one person in this city who didn’t fear him.

Two opposite impulses warred between him. One to go to her and comfort her and hear her side of the story. The other to akumatise her.

She’d cost him a chance earlier, it was only fair that _she_ give him one in return. And he knew that if he asked her she’d agree.

But. That last time he akumatised her haunts him. Could he risk that again? Worse still, any new form he grants her wouldn’t be Catalyst. She’d have to go out and fight and he wouldn’t be by her side if anything went wrong.

He could do though. He could go out _with_ her. He’d have better control of the akuma too and he’d be there if anything went wrong.

And he’d failed Emilie by being distracted by Nathalie once today already. To do so twice would be close to making it a trend, and then he might never break out of it.

“Dark Wings Rise.” He said firmly.

“Hello,” He was surprised when the connection was made, he’d thought something about hair, but instead, “Trucemaker,”

“Gabriel.” Her voice was flat, “Don’t worry about the whole performance, I know what you want.”

“Nathalie, I,”

“Save it. I’m not surprised,” she then broke off into a fit of coughing and he hadn’t even transformed her yet.

He couldn’t do it. He broke off the connection.

* * *

He found her in the downstairs bathroom. Or more precisely he could tell she was behind the locked door from the sound of stifled coughs and sobs.

“Nathalie,” he knocked at the door, “Nathalie let me in.”

“You said you didn’t want to see me sir,” she answered through the door.

“Forget about that.” He said. “I was being an idiot. Open the door.”

Still it didn’t budge.

“I’m sorry.” He said.

Finally she undid the lock and his heart broke at the sight of her on the floor with mascara tinged tear-marks on her face.

“Come up here,” he said and extended a hand to pull her up.

For a moment he thought she wouldn’t take it, but then she did, and at least he wasn’t looking down on her quite as much, but he wasn’t sure what he actually planned to do.

He could see her swallowing her sobs, and he felt the need to remind her, “I already felt your emotional state you know, you don’t have to hide it.”

“Could you give me some time to compose myself?” She answered as if he hadn’t just said he didn’t mind.

The issue was that he was completely out of his depth here. Usually in this situation he’d be provoking someone to give into their base emotion. If he _wasn’t_ doing that then he wasn’t sure _what_ he was doing.

Some remnant of an instinct from before he’d lost Emilie took over, “Come here,” he repeated, holding his arms wide.

“Sir?” Nathalie blinked, “You already, Oh.” She seemed flushed suddenly, “I’d dirty your clothes.” She gestured at her face.

He sighed, and took off his jacket, and waistcoat and hung them on the hook on the door.

She looked at him in confusion.

“A shirt is easily enough washed,” he explained, “and in the meantime it’ll be hidden.”

She stared at him long enough that he began to second-guess his offer. It wasn’t _that_ odd a thing to do. Nathalie had comforted him in similar ways plenty of times.

 _Nathalie had comforted him plenty of times._ Had he _ever_ comforted her since they started this?

The thought made him uneasy. He was so used to Nathalie doing what he asked of her, and anticipating his needs without asking that it was easy to forget that none of this was required of her by her job. She might need him functional but she didn’t _need_ to try to raise his mood the way she did.

He frantically tried to work out when the line had been crossed, but he couldn’t place it. It was lost somewhere in the darkness of those early days without Emilie. It was an unavoidable truth though that now it was _belittling_ to think of her just as his assistant.

And if she _wasn’t_ just his assistant then it wasn’t just _her_ place to look after him. It ought to be reciprocal the way Hawkmoth and Mayura looked out for each other.

Finally she hesitatingly took a few steps towards him, and he was able to enclose her in his arms, and awkwardly attempt to rub her back.

“Let it out,” He said, and maybe this _wasn’t_ so different to being Hawkmoth after all, “You don’t have to restrain yourself anymore. Don’t feel like you have to hide how you feel from the world. It’ll be easier when let it show. _I’m_ not judging you.”

It worked, from how she shook in his arms at least, and he let Nathalie quietly cry against him.

* * *

“Feeling better?” he asked after she’d seemed to have stopped for a while.

“A bit,” she said, though she barely moved her head from his chest. “I’m sorry, I think that had been coming for a while.”

He’s not sure whether to be reassured that it wasn’t _just_ his earlier actions that had caused this break in her composure or whether to rue that it was probably still his fault.

“Let’s get you tided up then,” he said and released her though he mourned the loss of her warmth the moment he did it, and then had to reprimand himself this wasn’t supposed to be about him.

“Sir?” Her brows creased in confusion, “I can do that myself. You should go back to work.”

“It’s fine,” he said, because tempting as it _was_ to flee this he still had more he needed to say. “Come on.”

She followed him up to her room, and with only minor protests let him convince her to sit down on the bed and let him wield the make-up remover wipes that were thankfully sitting on her bedside table.

“I was out of line,” he said, trying to wipe the tear tracks off her face as gently as possible, “I shouldn’t have slandered your loyalty like that.”

“Thank you.” She said, “I can take a lot Gabriel, I know you’re suffering and I make allowances for that, but that was hurtful.”

“I know,” he admitted, “I was cross at myself for being distracted. I shouldn’t have blamed you for my failings.”

“I wouldn’t have done it if I’d realised it would be so distracting,” she said. “I didn’t think it was that bad. I just thought it would be nice to change,”

“Something you can actually change?” he offered, “That’s understandable. Really though, Chat Noir?”

“It wasn’t exactly _meant_ to be Chat Noir, but Adrien seemed so pleased by the idea it seemed harmless to indulge him.”

If the colour was _Adrien’s_ idea then he’s going to have get his son checked for colourblindness or something. Maybe send him to design classes. That girl who had won the design contest had seemed to have a good eye. He could loosen up on letting Adrien spend time with her and see if it rubbed off.

“I suppose it doesn’t _have_ to be Chat Noir.” He acknowledged, “It could be _you_ as a future wielder of that Miraculous.”

It was easy enough to imagine Nathalie in Chat Noir’s get-up. Though he felt somewhat embarrassed doing that. The boy paraded round in black leather and somehow made it seem _reasonable_ as if it was normal clothes as well as any model he’d ever seen on the catwalk. Imaging _Nathalie_ in that costume was another matter entirely.

Objectively as someone who designed clothes for a living he knew exactly what adjective would apply. As her married employer and her, friend he supposed, he tried not to even think it.

It was all the cultural baggage it brought with it he supposed. Spies and comic book seductresses.

He tried to change the image, perhaps she’d look more like _Mayura,_ though surely sleeker and without the feathers. The image took place in his mind quickly and he wished he had a sketchpad to jot it down. Unfortunately it wasn’t any less alluring. Though that maybe wasn’t a surprise given Mayura was rather striking in her own way too.

Nathalie’s voice broke through his thoughts, “Are you expecting me to be a future wielder of the Black Cat Miraculous?”

“You don’t know,” he said, “If we defeat one hero without the other it might happen.”

“I suppose.” She said, then, “You realise my usual hair colour could be construed as a statement in favour of Ladybug don’t you? Should I swear red off too?”

“No,” It came out with some force, “I refuse to surrender red to Ladybug. She’s not taking that from me with everything else.”

Red was _his_ colour. His _favourite_ colour. Ladybug could go find another one.

“But you don’t mind losing green?”

“It’s a terrible green.”

“If you say so.”

He gathered up the used wipes to put them in the bin, and while he was turned away from her Nathalie spoke.

“Gabriel? Why _did_ you stop akumatising me?”

He turned and stared at her not understanding how this wasn’t obvious. “I told you. I was wrong.”

“For that performance in the Atelier yes.”

“I meant for starting to akumatise you too. I shouldn’t have tried to take advantage when I knew how dangerous it could be for you.” He sat down next to her, because he wanted to be close to her, but he couldn’t meet her eyes, “I don’t know what I’d have done if I’d lost you in such a stupid way.”

“You’re not going to lose me.” Nathalie said before adding with a smirk he could hear in her voice, “Whatever my hair colour.”

It hit him with more force than he’d expected because he couldn’t help but realise that had been part of the issue. Even before the idea that she’d sympathise with the heroes the idea that she could somehow move _out_ of the stasis they were stuck in, even if it _was_ something as minor as part of her appearance, while he was left behind in it had rattled him.

“I know.” He agreed then took her hand again, “And I am sorry.”

* * *

Later he discovered that he’s deeply unused to ordering presents on his own behalf. Usually either Emilie or Nathalie had always organised that type of thing.

Still he persevered and ordered Nathalie a green cashmere jumper that would complement the terrible hair colour but still suit her.

It’s not a polo neck. There’s only so much green on her he can handle.

Still she smiled when she accepted it from him so he took it as a win.

And he did get the benefit of getting to see her in it on top of that, so overall he thought it was quite successful.

Which made it ridiculously successful by the standards of his gift-giving track record.

* * *

Nathalie’s hair remained that shade of green until her roots started to come through enough that she acknowledged she needed to re-dye it.

He probably deserved that.

He probably also deserved her unasked for announcement of “Don’t worry sir, I won’t do the green again.”

* * *

She followed it up with an electric blue.

It was better than the green, but seeing _Mayura’s_ colours on Nathalie when she wasn’t transformed was odd.

He kept catching it out of the corner of his eye and getting a spike of anxiety before he remembered it was just a dyed streak of hair.

Adrien had seemed bizarrely disappointed by it, and he noted that he needed to monitor any attempts his son made to adjust his wardrobe himself, if Adrien still thought that green had been anything other than horrendous.

* * *

The next time it gets close to when she’d usually dye it he took a chance, “Here,”

She looked down at the box he’d thrust into her hands, “Do you need me to send this somewhere?”

“It’s for you.”

“For me?” She opened it and found the two purple polo necks he’d selected for her. One is subtly patterned and the other plain but in the softest jersey he could find. She raised her eyebrows, “Is this a hint?”

“Call it a suggestion,” he answered, then unsure if he’d screwed up again clarified, “Not that you have to. I’m not ordering you or anything. You can do what you want, it’s your hair so it’s your choice.”

“It’s ok sir.” She cut him off, “I don’t mind. Maybe I _do_ need to keep changing colours. I might end up with a whole new wardrobe at this point if you keep on like this.”

* * *

He almost regretted it when she took him up on it and came in with a stripe _exactly_ the shade of Hawkmoth’s suit. He wondered it that was deliberate and if it was then what it was meant to mean.

“What do you think sir?” She said pointing at it as if he could not have noticed, “Better or worse than the blue?”

“I think,” his stomach seemed to itself in knots and he wasn’t sure _what_ he thought, but the words that came out of his mouth were, “I don’t know if I prefer this or the red.”


End file.
